Cat and Mouse
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: "Ziva?" Tony eyed the Mossad agent as she perched ninja-like atop her desk. "I know about the thing with the paperclips, but what exactly are you trying to kill with that stapler?" A not-so-serious tale of a distracted Gibbs, a catnapped cat, an aggressive mouse, and an astonishingly bad idea. As they say, when the cat's away... (Gen, Team)
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me. This was written for my own amusement and that of anyone else who happens onto this. If you do, I hope you enjoy._

* * *

"So is it the black wire or the yellow one that's supposed to hook into the speakers? Because I swear before you came over to fix it the first time it was a red wire that-"

"It's the blue one, Tony." McGee rolled his eyes and willed a speedy end to the seemingly endless elevator ride. Checking his watch, he was dismayed to find that there were still ten more minutes before his work day would even officially begin. He sighed. "You only think it's the red wire because that's the one you broke the first time you made me come fix it."

"Oh, yeah…" Tony squinted toward the buzzing overhead lights in slow recognition. "Yeah, now that you mention it, that does seem right."

"Next time, you could just do what the rest of the world does and hire a tech guy."

"That's why I have you."

McGee shook his head as the lighted numbers ticked slowly upward toward their destination. Unfortunately, his partner wasn't done quite yet.

"But wasn't there a yellow wire that hooked to the -"

Cut off by the ding of the opening doors and the Probie's hasty retreat into the bullpen, Tony adjusted his bag over his shoulder and hustled along behind him with a few quick steps. Rounding the familiar cubicle wall, he came to an abrupt halt behind McGee's frozen form. "Kinda blocking traffic, there, McJam. What's the hold-"

His voice trailed off as he sidestepped the obstacle before him. Shoulder to shoulder with McGee, he followed his partner's gaze and observed for the first time the cause of his sudden, somewhat stunned stop.

Balanced on top of her desk in what Tony could only imagine was some sort of _krav maga_ martial arts pose, phone crooked between ear and neck, stapler in one hand and service weapon in the other, was Ziva. A very tense, very angry, very potentially lethal Ziva. At the sight of her weapon, Tony's hand reached automatically for his own gun, but it stilled at his side when he realized the assassin's deadly aim was directed at...the floor.

Shooting a nervous glance toward McGee, Tony decided to use the most direct approach. "Ah, Ziva?" Tony eyed the Mossad agent as she perched ninja-like atop her desk. "I already know about the thing with the paperclips, but what _exactly _are you trying to kill with that stapler?"

"Shhh!" Tony and McGee each took a hurried step backward at her sudden wordless rebuke. Ziva briefly fixed both of them with the same death glare she'd been training on the carpet under Gibbs's desk, and for a moment Tony reconsidered the need for his own weapon. "You will scare it away!"

"Scare what away?" ventured a confused McGee.

"The mouse!" she hissed.

"Mouse?" McGee's eyebrow lifted in mild amusement as he and Tony shared an apprehensive look. Ziva continued to aim her office supplies with supreme focus and deadly precision. The Probie swallowed. "There's a mouse...under Gibbs's desk? Are you sure?"

Ziva dared a glance to roll her eyes in exasperation and attempted to adjust the phone without using her stapler-and-firearm-occupied hands. "I am sitting on top of my desk. Of course I am sure there is a mouse! It ran right under there!" She gestured with the stapler to the general area around Gibbs's chair.

"Brave mouse," muttered McGee. Off Tony's questioning look, he explained. "I'm just saying. Remember that one time when you crawled under the boss's desk to try to find out what he did with all those empty coffee cups? And he came back with another coffee in one hand and sat in his chair and -"

"We agreed we don't talk about that, McGee," Tony growled. He dropped his work bag at the side of his own desk and cautiously edged his way closer to the last known location of the wayward rodent.

McGee smirked. "I didn't have to do paperwork for the next month."

"I remember that," agreed Ziva, stretching one long leg behind her in an attempt to peer farther into the cubicle. A booted foot grazed his face as McGee leaned backward a bit to avoid the repercussions of her improvised contortionist act.

"Moving on..." Tony insisted, ducking under her leg and daring to creep a little closer. "What did it look like?" He half-crouched in the space between Ziva and his boss's desk, craning his neck downward for a better view.

Ziva huffed and attempted to readjust the phone still clenched between ear and shoulder without using her hands. "Little, gray brown, squirmy, _thing_!" she spit. "It was chewing on something and then it ran toward me."

"So, you climbed on your desk," clarified McGee, a soothing note creeping into his tone. "To get away from the mouse."

Tony grinned. "You gonna beat it with your purse next?"

"Do not patronize me! I do not carry a purse! I carry a bag, and it was a _big_ mouse!"

"You just said it was little," pointed out McGee.

"Big _for_ a mouse!" Adjusting her grip on the stapler, Ziva huffed again. "I do not like mice. Is that a problem for either of you?" She narrowed her eyes at the men before her.

Under her glare, they each retreated quickly.

"Nope," McGee shook his head as he edged past his crawling partner and office supply wielding coworker. He headed over to his own desk across the aisle. It was probably for the best if he just stayed out of the way on this one. "Not a problem at all." As he reached down to flick on his computer he offered one final thought on the situation at hand. "But you might want to pick up your..._bag_ off the floor so your new friend doesn't go home with you at the end of the day."

Ziva's eyes widened, flickering to the bag that was most definitely _not_ a purse resting on the floor behind her chair. She juggled phone, gun, and stapler unsuccessfully for a moment before hissing at Tony, who had disappeared fully underneath Gibbs's desk. "Hand me that bag!"

At the sound of her voice, the back side of Tony's head met the underside of his boss's desk with a surprisingly loud crack. "Ow!" He rubbed at the forming bump before glaring at the offending metal. "Taking after the person that sits in you," he muttered. Crawling out from under the desk, he squinted over at Ziva's bag. "Why me? You could come down, you know. I've seen you take out a whole bar of pissed off Navy Seals with your ninja skills. Pretty sure Mossad teaches some sort of super secret mouse neutralization techniques, too."

"My hands are full!"

"Well, put the gun down! What are you gonna do, shoot it?"

With a frustrated huff, Ziva holstered her weapon and shifted the stapler into her right hand.

"Better." Tony straightened from his crouch. "And who are you on the phone with, anyway?"

"Security."

"Security?" Tony chuckled a disbelieving laugh. "You called security for a mouse?"

Across the aisle, McGee looked up from his computer. "I'm not sure mice are really their thing..."

"Well they keep putting me on hold anyway." She slammed the phone back into its cradle with more than the usual amount of force. Left with only the stapler, she surveyed her desk while considering the feasibility of using scissors for rodent related defense.

Tony eyed her with amusement. "Unless you're planning to staple it to death, you can probably put that down, too. I'm sure whatever you saw is long gone by now."

"You did not see the size of that...thing! And it ran right at me! I thought mice were supposed to be…_mousy_!" Tony remained unimpressed while she stared at him in frustration. "Just hand me my bag."

"Sure thing." Tony looped one finger under the strap and did as requested. Just as the bottom of the bag cleared the floor, he spotted movement.

Furry movement.

Aggressive movement.

Surprisingly large (for a mouse) movement.

Charging straight for him.

With a surprised yelp, Tony flung Ziva's bag high into the air and scrambled backwards. Frantically, he reached for the nearest available weapon, which happened to be a pile of neatly stacked, completely ignored files awaiting signatures on the corner of his boss's desk.

Snatching up a pair of scissors, Ziva resumed her ninja pose on top of her own desk, stapler aimed in perfect field-rated formation.

Brandishing his paperwork, Tony attempted a hasty retreat before his legs, unfortunately, tangled with a trash can. Sprawling helplessly into the aisle of the bullpen, Tony fell. Thirty-seven file folders of paperwork in triplicate and one bag that was decidedly _not_ a purse fluttered to the ground around him.

And _that_ was about the time that Gibbs walked in.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm so happy this silly thing is making people smile! Much more is on the way!_

* * *

Coffee in hand, Gibbs strode purposefully from the elevator and prepared to start his day.

He came to sudden halt, however, when what appeared to be Ziva's purse thing landed with a thump at his feet as he rounded the corner into his team's portion of the bullpen. He frowned at the bag before looking up and taking in the scene before him.

Sprawled on the floor and surrounded by what appeared to be the paperwork Vance had been increasingly insistent he complete lay his senior field agent. His senior field agent, who, after a moment of stunned stillness, now seemed to be scrambling backwards and away from Ziva's desk with a sense of frantic urgency.

On top of Ziva's desk was the Mossad agent herself, crouched in a ninja-like position and wielding a stapler. To Gibbs's relief, her wrath seemed to be aimed, more or less, at the paper-covered floor Tony had hastily evacuated and not at the agent himself.

Sitting calmly at his desk, seemingly oblivious to the chaos before him and typing cheerfully away at his beloved computer, was an unaffected McGee. He looked up as Gibbs slowed to a stop. "Morning, boss," he greeted, as he did every day.

"McGee," Gibbs returned calmly with a slight nod. His gaze then returned to Tony, who had managed to untangle himself from the mess on the floor only to vault on top of his own desk and assume a vaguely Ziva-like pose among his own set of office supplies.

"Boss, there's a mouse!" Tony's words exploded outward in a percussive rush as he settled himself unsteadily on top of his desk. Another stack of files slid dangerously close to the edge after being rocked by a designer shoe. "Big mouse! Gotta move! Might be rabid!" He lunged for his desk drawer and opened it awkwardly before rummaging through its contents as he balanced above.

"Ah huh." Gibbs blinked, then drug his eyes back over to Ziva's desk. Finding her in much the same position as before, he took in the carnage in the aisle before him. McGee kept typing happily away.

"It charged me," Tony explained, emerging triumphant from his drawer search. His eyes scanned the floor for any sign of the perpetrator. "And it attacked Ziva! Better get off the floor, boss. I got you covered!" He appeared to be wielding a three hole punch.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It is a very aggressive mouse, Gibbs." agreed Ziva, stapler at the ready. "I suspect some sort of strength-altering substance."

Gibbs blinked again and turned back to his senior field agent's desk.

Feeling the unsettling blue-eyed gaze land expectantly on him, Tony felt the need to explain. "Protocol, boss. For an unpredictable assailant. We took up defensive positions."

"I see that, DiNozzo." Blinking at the Ziva's stapler once more and realizing that farther discussion was just liable to lead to more trouble, Gibbs shook his head. He looked down once more to the bag at his feet before reaching down to retrieve it. Arm outstretched, he offered the item to Ziva without farther comment. "Call maintenance," he sighed.

Snatching the bag from her boss, Ziva reached once again for her phone, but she was stopped by the sound of Gibbs's voice.

"After," he barked sharply before lowering his tone, "we get back." He sighed at the paperwork-covered floor. That mess had DiNozzo's name written all over it. Too bad it'd have to wait. "Got a sailor dead in a barn. Grab your gear."

With that, Gibbs turned on his heel and pivoted back toward the elevator.

Bag clutched to her chest, Ziva leapt nimbly from her desk before sprinting easily after her boss. Tony removed himself from his own desk with far less grace, yet managed to dislodge only seven or eight files and an empty coffee cup in his wake. Hole punch in hand, he ran like a hunted man toward the relative safety of the steel doors and his boss's protection, looking over his shoulder all the way.

McGee rose from his chair, swung his bag over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he sidestepped the fallen paperwork and continued slowly after.

* * *

Tony peered over at the sketch pad balanced delicately on top of Ziva's knees. "I think the teeth were sharper than that."

A few pencil strokes later, she tilted the paper back in his direction. "Like this?"

He glanced at her drawing briefly before his eyes darted back to the country road. "More like fangs, maybe." He removed one hand from the wheel and attempted to demonstrate on his own incisors. "And the tail was at least three inches longer than that."

"Got it." She erased and tried again.

In the far passenger seat of the Major Case Response Team truck, McGee looked up from his laptop heaved an audible sigh. "Are you two going to do this all the way to the crime scene? Some of us are working here."

Without looking up, Ziva tipped her pencil eraser in his direction. "Eyewitness descriptions are most helpful when recorded immediately following the incident, McGee. Accurate suspect descriptions are a major factor when attempting to neutralize a potential threat."

"You do realize you're talking about a mouse."

She bit her lip and ignored the comment. "What do you think about the eyes?" Once again, she angled her sketch toward Tony. He turned from the wheel, and McGee reached for the dashboard to steady himself as the truck swerved.

"Watch it!"

"Relax, McGee." Tony straightened the vehicle. "Beadier eyes. More threatening." He hit the gas in an attempt to catch up to his boss's speeding car.

Ziva looked up thoughtfully. "How does one draw threatening eyes?"

Tony avoided yet another muddy pothole. "Picture Gibbs without coffee."

McGee clutched the computer bouncing dangerously in his lap. "Picture Gibbs an hour ago when you two dumped his files all over the floor," he mumbled. "And if you're almost finished, I could use some help with the actual _case_."

"In a minute, Probie. Important work going on here." Tony peered at the GPS before following Gibbs down an unmarked road. He dared another glance at Ziva's sketch. "I still think the teeth should be sharper. And the claws were more...clawier. And don't forget about the ears. We're not drawing Minnie Mouse here. Oh, and the-"

Ziva huffed in frustration as she tried to keep up. "_You_ try sketching while bouncing around on gravel roads!"

"I _would _try sketching, but none of us would survive your driving!" Tony squinted against the morning sun. Gibbs's car kicked up clouds of dust far ahead. "Let's move on to the other paperwork," he suggested.

"About time," sighed McGee. He closed one laptop window and opened another. "Gibbs said the victim was found dead in an unused barn early this morning. The victim's brother was -"

He was cut off abruptly by his partner. "Suspect last seen approximately fifteen feet North of the Southwest elevators," Tony recited. "When last sighted, suspect was headed East on foot at approximately ten miles per hour. Suspect threatened two federal officers and should be considered armed and dangerous." Tony peeked at Ziva, who had been scribbling furiously. "You getting all that?"

"Got it," she replied.

McGee could only blink in confusion. "What are you two talking about?" He consulted his laptop. "The suspect was last seen at an off-base bar Thursday night. He was headed-"

With an impatient sigh, Tony explained. "Not talking about the case, McGee. At least, not the human one."

"Tony, _it was a mouse_!"

"Hey," Tony barked in self-defense. "It was a_ big_ mouse."

"It wasn't armed and dangerous!"

"You didn't see the teeth!"

"It is simply a building-wide memo, McGee." Ziva finished her scribbling and looked up. "We send out a memo to all NCIS personnel in the building so that they are aware of the situation."

"Aware of what? A two-inch long mouse?"

"You'll sing a different tune when it attacks you."

"It didn't _attack _you! You scared it and it ran -"

"It attacked me," Tony assured. "And as such, it is my duty as a sworn federal agent to protect my brothers in arms." He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Now, then." He looked to Ziva. "Any known aliases?"

McGee settled back in his seat for what was turning out to be a very long ride.

* * *

Gravel crunched under the tires of the MCRT truck as Tony finally pulled to a stop beside Gibbs's car. In the far passenger seat, McGee sighed with deep relief. Tony and Ziva had spent the entire drive out to the crime scene discussing the horrifying size and terrorist agenda of what McGee could only assume was a rather average mouse.

McGee had his passenger door opened and had vaulted out onto the gravel before Tony even put the truck into park. Ziva scrambled out behind him. Beside them, Gibbs exited his own car. Together, the three of them took in the barn, the farmhouse, and the unexpected level of activity before them.

"Uh, oh, Boss. Looks like we weren't the only ones invited to this party." McGee surveyed the FBI vans surrounding the rickety barn. Yellow tape already secured what he assumed to be the scene of the crime. What had to be dozens of men wearing FBI jackets swarmed the area ahead.

Tony eased out of the driver's side. "But apparently we are fashionably late."

Gibbs shook his head in mild disgust. "Day just got a lot more interesting, DiNozzo." He sighed. Of course. The FBI. His agents were busy having some kind of office supply war and _he_ got to take on the FBI. He surveyed the available forces before making the easy decision. "McGee, you're with me." Gibbs headed off and McGee followed gratefully after. Flashing his badge, Gibbs ducked under the flapping tape and headed toward the barn. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Who thinks they're in charge of my crime scene?"

Tony headed to the back of the truck for their supplies. "Feel sorry for whatever tongue wagging, sniveling shell of an FBI agent tries to take this one away from Gibbs," he muttered as he stalked to the back of the van.

"That would be me, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony swallowed, then forced his face into a facsimile of a smile before turning to greet the man before him. "Agent Fornell," he nodded. "Of course. I was just telling Agent David how much I hoped -"

"Leave me out of this." Ziva appeared from the other side of the truck, snatching up a camera before trotting away.

Left alone with Fornell, Tony again tried to smile while he hauled out a bag. "I was just saying how much I hoped we'd, ah, have the pleasure of working together on this." He quit talking after that and hoped for the best.

With a smirk, Fornell shook his head. "Right. Exactly what I told my people. They didn't buy it, either." They blinked at each other for a moment. "You gonna show me where Gibbs is, or do I get to guess?"

"Right. Sure thing." Together, they headed for the barn.

From the shadows of the of the livestock stalls, the cat observed all that occurred, its furry tail swishing thoughtfully in feline contemplation.


	3. Chapter 3

Three hours later, McGee was rethinking his initial relief at being paired up with Gibbs. While Tony and Ziva's apparent fear of mice had been annoying, it was nothing compared to the interagency pissing match between Gibbs and Fornell. And, lucky for McGee, he'd been given a front row seat. He'd spent most of the morning just trying not to get wet.

At long last, McGee had managed to work himself over to the other side of the barn to rejoin Tony and Ziva at a secondary aspect of the scene. The sounds of the interagency shouting match, however, carried through the wooden rafters surprisingly well.

"They are like preschoolers, yes?" Ziva shook her head at the two men as their voices rose yet again.

"Not my preschool," McGee disagreed. "Miss Hildegard would never have allowed that."

Tony laughed as he labeled yet another evidence bag. "Your preschool teacher was named Miss Hildegard?"

"Yes. Why is that funny to you?"

"What was she? A six and a half foot tall German woman with bright red hair and a thing for schnitzel?"

McGee considered. "Pretty close," he agreed. "She definitely would not have put up with that," he muttered as a string of colorful words from their boss sent the remaining FBI worker bees running back to their hive.

"I feel sorrier for you every day, McGee."

"Least I'm not scared of a mouse," he muttered.

"It was a _big_ mouse!"

From across the rapidly emptying barn, there came an inhuman hiss, a growl, a shout, then silence.

Tony caught Ziva's widened eyes as they straightened. "Do you think they finally killed each other?" he whispered.

"I would have expected explosives."

Leaving McGee behind to finish bagging evidence, they cautiously made their way over to where their boss was observing a very upset and slightly bloody Agent Fornell.

"Damn thing just clawed me for no reason!" the FBI agent growled. "Just turned around and gouged my arm off!"

Standing at his feet stood an unassuming gray barn cat, apparently harmless except for the menacing growl emanating from deep in its throat.

"Well, you shouldn't have grabbed it like that," Gibbs reasoned. "Can't just reach down and not expect it to react." The cat continued to growl warningly at Fornell.

"It was sniffing around the body! I had to move it! I won't have my crime scene contaminated by some barn cat!"

"_Your _crime scene?" Gibbs took a possessive step forward while Tony winced. "I don't recall us-"

"Yes, my crime scene! Gibbs, this is an FBI crime scene! If your people don't - _Ow!_" Apparently, Tony deduced, the cat did not like shouting. "It scratched me again!" Fornell howled.

Gibbs offered Fornell a handkerchief for his injured shin. He didn't bother to hide the smirk creeping its way across his face.

"That damn thing should be euthanized!"

"Really, Fornell? Scared of a cat?"

"It attacked a federal agent!"

"So that's what you're calling yourself these days."

"I swear to God, Gibbs, if you don't –"

They were interrupted by the tentative clearing of a throat. "Is there a problem, officers?" A farmer who, Tony presumed, was the owner of the rickety barn soon appeared. The man cautiously made his way into the barn, careful to give a wide berth to the body before him.

"Is this your cat?" spit Fornell.

The farmer took a few careful steps forward. "That one there? The gray?" Fornell glared his agreement. "Nope, not mine. Least, not really. Just hangs around the barn and keeps out the rodents. Good mouser, that one. Best one I've had in years."

Tony perked up and caught Ziva's eye. A glimmer of an idea began to form.

"Well it damn near clawed me to death!"

"Huh," the farmer mused. "Never seen it do that before. Must be those shiny jackets y'all wear. Usually just kills the mice. Never really seen it come around people like this. Never really see it much at all. It's a sneaky one."

Tony's idea took deeper root.

Fornell eyed the cat warily. "Just get it away from me." He gestured to Gibbs, who gently guided the cat away the body with his boot. The cat lovingly rubbed against his leg, then trotted away without farther incident.

Gibbs watched it go with a smirk. "See there, Tobias? Even the cat knows whose crime scene this is."

* * *

Snatching Ziva by the arm, Tony pulled her behind the autopsy van and away from prying ears.

"Tony, I am still not sure this is a good idea."

"It's a great idea!" he insisted, craning his neck as he checked to make certain they were alone.

"It did not seem to like people very much."

"It didn't like_ Fornell _very much," Tony corrected. "Not liking the FBI is a sign of good sense. Besides," he rummaged through the back of Ducky's van until he emerged with an empty body bag, "do you really want to wait around until maintenance gets in gear and deals with the mouse? You saw that thing! It's huge! And aggressive. We need to take it out. I'd think that would be right up your alley."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Tony fixed her with a loaded stare. "Aren't you the Mossad assassin?"

Ziva considered.

Tony tested the zipper on the bag. "Thing was huge. Probably a mama mouse. Probably be a dozen more of those beady eyed monsters living in our office by next weekend."

Ziva's eyes widened. "Do you really think..."

"Do you want to test the theory?" Deeming the bag worthy, Tony looped it over his shoulder. "It's fate. Best mouser Farmer Fred over there has ever seen. A cat that usually avoids people. It's perfect. We bag the cat, turn it loose, it catches the mouse, we return the cat, problem solved. No one will ever know."

"I do not know..."

"Mouse babies, Ziva. Hundreds of them. In your purse."

"I do not carry a-"

"In your _bag_, then. _And_ your desk. Are you with me on this?" Tony ducked down a few inches to study her intently underneath the brim of her hat.

She stared at him for a minute, considering. "Fine. But _you_ are catching the cat."

"That was the plan." Bag at the ready, Tony headed for the barn.

* * *

Two hours later, Ziva waited impatiently in the center seat of the cab of the truck. First, they'd had to wait until Gibbs drove off in a cloud of dust, apparently determined to beat the FBI in an open road race back to D.C. Then, they'd had to make sure McGee was otherwise occupied bagging pile after pile of evidence. Evidence, Tony was amused to find, that came in the form of dried cow pies. Finally, they'd had their chance. Well, Tony had had his chance. Drumming her fingers nervously across her thighs, Ziva waited for her partner to reappear. At last, the driver's side door swung open and a red-faced Tony hefted a bag onto the floor beside her feet.

"Did you get it?"

Panting, Tony nodded. "Yeah. That thing, though," he huffed, leaning against the frame of the door as he attempted to catch his breath. "That thing can _run_."

Ziva eyed her sweating partner. "Well, where is it?"

Tony scanned the area around the truck before slightly unzipping the bag resting at their feet. A little gray head popped curiously out.

"You put it in the autopsy bag?!"

"Where did you think I was going to put it? Not like we can just walk away with Farmer Joe's cat!"

"I thought his name was Farmer Fred?"

Tony's jaw dropped in frustration. "Does that matter right now?"

"Can it even breathe in there?" Ziva turned to the cat in concern.

"It's got plenty of air. Happy as can be. Besides, if McGee saw this, plan "kill the freaking mouse" would come to an abrupt end."

Ziva nodded, observing cat and bag. "And if Gibbs saw this, _you _would come to an abrupt end."

"Me?" Tony squeaked. "You agreed to all this!"

Before Ziva could respond, the passenger door opened and McGee swung in. Tony hastily pushed the furry head out of sight and re-zipped the bag.

"That's everything," McGee confirmed as he buckled in. "Ducky and Palmer got the last of it. Gibbs wants us back to run bank records and credit cards."

"Heading out, then." With a knowing look toward Ziva, Tony put the truck into gear.

"You know," McGee began, "I really expected a – ACHOO! - a bigger showdown between Fornell and Gibbs. Last time – ACHOO! - Last time those two - ACHOO!" He shook his head in exasperation and rolled up his window. "Must be the pollen," he muttered.

"Yup. Must be." Tony gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the road as they continued down the lane. From the chicken coop, Farmer Tom waved good-bye.

McGee shuffled around to retrieve a tissue from his pocket. Wiping his eyes, he sniffled a bit. "Bad time of year to be out in fields like that." He broke off thoughtfully for a moment. "Although my eyes are burning and that usually only happens with..." he trailed off as his eyes came to rest on the previously unnoticed autopsy bag. The very slightly _moving_ autopsy bag. Suddenly, the pieces fell horrifyingly into place.

"Tony! Is there a _cat_ - ACHOO! - _in that bag_!?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Tony..."

"Shut it, McGee."

"This is a bad idea."

"You've said that about a million times in the last thirty miles."

"That's because it's a _very bad_ - ACHOO! - idea."

"It's a perfect idea," Tony gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the road as they headed back into city traffic.

"You_ stole_ a _cat_."

"_Borrowed_ a cat," corrected Tony for at least the hundredth time. He sighed. "Ziva? Help me out here."

"We are only borrowing it for a short time, McGee. Just long enough to get rid of the mouse."

"You cannot bring that thing back to NC - ACHOO! - IS!"

"Relax, McGee. Have a handkerchief. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" McGee's red eyes widened. "Tony, the _mouse _was no big deal! _This_ -" he gestured to the tuft of fur poking out of the partly opened zipper, "_This _is theft! Or kidnapping! Or something even worse!"

"Catnapping," supplied Ziva with a proud, satisfied grin.

"Catnapping isn't...It's not...Never mind," muttered Tony. Ziva continued to smile, so he turned his attention to a sniffling McGee. "And anyway, you're never even going to know it's there. We'll wait until the building is cleared for the evening, let it loose overnight, it'll find the damn mouse, we'll scoop it back up and return it to its barn tomorrow. We already have to drive back out there to re-interview Farmer Franklin."

McGee shook his head. "For one thing, Tony, that's not his name. For another, I already know it's here. I'm allergic, remember?"

"No kidding. Thought you were just coming down with a cold, McSneeze." Tony merged onto the interstate. "What about those horse pills you take? Aren't they supposed to stop..." he waited as McGee blew his nose yet again, "_that_?"

"My allergy pills don't help with cat dander."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Like I said. Feel sorrier for you every day."

"Yeah, well you can feel sorry for yourself when Gibbs finds out about this."

Tony scoffed. "Gibbs won't find out about this! He's too preoccupied with the FBI pissing match to notice a cat!"

"Really? When was the last time Gibbs failed to notice _anything_?"

"He does have a point," Ziva agreed.

"I'm telling you," McGee repeated, "this will not end well. You should just call maintenance like Gibbs suggested."

"Have you seen the maintenance department, McMouse? They're not exactly on top of things."

"That is true," Ziva agreed. "It took numerous phone calls and many threats of bodily harm just for someone to fix the legs on my broken chair."

"That's because the chair was broken when you tried to use it to subdue a suspect."

"And?"

"You thought the maintenance guy _was_ the suspect."

"And I admitted that was a mistake! I still do not understand why they will not respond to our calls."

Tony and McGee shared a look. "The maintenance people are scared of you, Ziva."

"I only subdued one of them!"

"They have a union or something."

"It was a misunderstanding!"

" -that resulted in a broken nose." Tony sighed. "Yeah, we're probably not getting any help from them. I think they dislike all of team Gibbs."

Nodding sadly, McGee relented. "That may be true. Still, I don't think the cat is the best idea..."

"It'll be just fine. Everybody relax."

They drove in silence for a few minutes more until McGee had a thought. "What are you going to do with it when we get back to NCIS? It's still too early to let it loose. There'll be people in the building for hours."

Tony paused, momentarily stumped. "Can't it stay in the truck?"

"Tony!" Ziva looked at him in horror. "You cannot leave an animal in a hot truck!"

He scoffed. "I know that..." His first plan failed, he took a moment and tried to think. "Abby likes cats."

"Abby likes dogs."

"She doesn't like both?"

McGee sighed. "Just leave me out of whatever the two of you decide, okay? I have enough work to do tracking down every cell phone call made from a fifty mile radius of that barn over the last week. You two are on your own with this."

"Have it your way, Probie. But don't come looking for help when that rabid mouse attacks you."

"Oh, what? You'd come to my rescue with a three hole punch?" He turned to Ziva. "Or maybe a stapler?"

"It is a very aggressive mouse, McGee."

"Doesn't make it rabid, Ziva. Besides, it's more scared of you than you are of it." He eyed his team members before his gaze fell to the bag at their feet and he reconsidered. "Well, maybe not. But you're still on your own with this one. And I'd be a lot more scared of Gibbs than of a mouse if I were you."

Finally, Tony pulled the truck to a creaking stop. "Relax, McGee." Opening his door, Tony hefted the bag from the floor of the truck. "It's all under complete control."

* * *

Complete control dissolved a bit a few minutes later when Tony and Ziva were met with a less than happy lab tech.

"A cat?" Abby blinked at him in disbelief. "You brought back a _cat_?" She shook her head. "I was expecting _evidence_. Something I can work with. Bullet fragments. Fingerprints. Instead, I get a - awww!" Her sour face curled up into a smile as Tony carefully unzipped the bag.

A little gray head soon appeared, eyeing those assembled in the room.

Abby knelt to greet her visitor. "He's so cute," she squealed.

Tony looked to Ziva. "Told you this was the right place." He bent down to the curious head. The cat watched him with a wary stare. "How do you like your temporary hunting ground?" He offered the cat a two fingered pat.

The cat seized the opportunity to sink its teeth into Tony's extended hand.

"Ow!" he yelped. "It bit me!" At his sudden shout, the cat startled and swiped Tony's forehead with one defensive paw. "Ow!" he shrieked again, taking a hurried step back. "It scratched me!" He clapped his uninjured hand to his forehead, feeling for the wound.

"It's probably hungry," Abby cooed. "And you scared it when you yelled. Plus, you zipped it up in an autopsy bag." Undeterred by Tony's injuries, she scooped up the feline fearlessly and cradled the cat like a baby in her arms. It settled in with a contented meow and began to purr. "You're just hungry, aren't you, sweetie?" She looked at Tony. "Where's its food?"

Tony blinked as he withdrew his fingertips from his face. "I'm bleeding!"

Ziva remained unimpressed. "We did not bring any food, Abby."

"You stole a cat and didn't bring it any food?" The lab tech swayed from side to side, rocking the cat gently as its eyes began to close. "No wonder he's cranky. You have to feed it."

Attending now to his bitten hand, Tony sucked on a punctured thumb. "I told you. The plan is, it _catches _its food tonight. If we feed it, it won't be hungry."

"Poor baby," Abby soothed, stroking its head.

"Poor baby? Thing just took a hunk out of my hand. That ought to hold it until tonight." Tony glared at the cat, who, he thought, seemed to glare back.

"Well, you took it away from its home, stuffed it in bag, and drove it back here. Of course it doesn't like you."

"It also seemed to dislike Agent Fornell," Ziva observed. "Actually, Gibbs seemed to be the only one able to get close to it without incident. Well, Gibbs and you." She gestured to Abby's s softly rocking form. "It merely observed me."

"That's because you avoided its wrath with your ninja skills," Tony muttered. He turned to Abby. "So you'll keep it down here until the building clears out?" Suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere other than near that cat's eerie stare and freakishly sharp claws.

"I'll do you one better than that. Not only will I keep this little cutie pie safe until the end of the day, but I'll have the weapon ID'd within the hour."

"Thanks, Abby."

Tony headed off in search of band-aids.

The cat happily watched him go.

* * *

With the demon cat tucked safely away in Abby's lab and his bleeding at least somewhat staunched, Tony followed Ziva back into the bullpen. Upon arrival, they found Gibbs and McGee already hard at work. Gingerly adjusting his gauze-wrapped forehead, Tony retrieved his empty coffee cup from the floor, where it had landed during his hasty escape earlier that morning. Righting the mug on his desk, he pulled out his chair. Before he could sit, however, his attention was diverted by his boss's disbelieving bark.

"_David_!"

Looking up, Tony observed Ziva. The woman was half crouched on top of her desk, attempting to maneuver her computer monitor into her unoccupied chair.

Gibbs stood up for a better view. "What the hell are you doing?"

With an impatient shrug, Ziva replaced the monitor and attempted to explain. "There was not enough room for myself and the monitor to work comfortably on top of my desk. I thought if I moved it to the chair, then-"

"I mean what the hell are _you_ doing on top of your desk?"

"Gibbs, the mouse is still on the loose! As long as it is -"

"Oh, for God's sake." Gibbs rubbed his temple. "Did you call maintenance?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"But _what_, Agent David?"

"But they said it may take some time to capture the-"

His jaw dropped. "Sit!" he ordered, pointing at her chair. "_You_ go in the chair. The computer TV thing goes on the desk. It's only a mouse!" Returning to his seat once more, his glare fell on Tony's bandaged head. He opened his mouth, shut it again, shook his head, and tried to focus on the files in front of him.

Tony watched as Ziva cautiously climbed from the top of her desk down into her chair. Sneaking a careful glance at Gibbs, she ever so slowly edged her trash can under her desk. Delicately, she propped her feet up on the can and got to work.

With a sympathetic smirk, Tony eased into his own chair. With one eye on his already grumpy boss, he attempted to put his own feet up on his desk in what he hoped was a relaxed, natural position. A position well above mouse territory.

Unfortunately, while crossing his feet he dislodged the empty coffee cup from the edge of his desk. It landed with a thump on the floor and rolled toward Gibbs.

"DiNozzo!"

"Yes, boss," came the automatic response. Plan foiled, Tony's legs dangled in the air for a moment before he pulled out his bottom desk drawer. Designer shoes propped up on the open drawer, he also attempted to work.

The bullpen silence was shattered several minutes later by the insistent ring of Gibbs's cell. Snatching it up, he answered with an annoyed growl. "Gibbs." He listened for a moment. "We didn't put a...Why would he be in…They _what?_"

Tony looked up in alarm as Gibbs began rapidly punching buttons on his keyboard. After a moment, Gibbs snapped his fingers at McGee. Covering the phone with one hand, he hissed, "Put _that_," he pointed to his monitor, "up _there_!" he waved at the plasma.

As McGee jumped into action, Gibbs growled into his phone. "I'll take care of it!" He slammed the phone down on his desk and turned to glare at his agents.

Tony got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. A very, very bad feeling.

"That was Metro on the phone," Gibbs explained far too calmly. "They wanted to inform me that they got a hit on our BOLO." He eyed Tony coldly. "Said they found our suspect hiding in a trap. In their _basement_."

The bad feeling got even worse.

Pressing several buttons in tandem, McGee brought up the plasma screen.

Four shocked faces observed what appeared.

Gibbs's face reverted to what Tony recognized as a level nine threat. "Our BOLO for a _mouse!_" He pointed at the plasma, where Ziva's sketch had suddenly appeared, complete with fang-like teeth.

"Gibbs, I -"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Shaking his head in disbelief at his agents, Gibbs took several steps forward and squinted as he read. "Physical description - brown fur, beady eyes. Height - four to ten inches-"

Tony swallowed. "Well, that depends if it's standing on its hind legs."

"Did you hit your head?" Gibbs took one threatening step forward. "_Did_ you _hit_ your _head_?"

Tony fingered the gauze. "Actually, I-"

Silencing him with a glare, Gibbs turned his attention back to the plasma and continued to read the display. "Armed and...Attacked two federal officers...Last seen heading...Category - _Domestic Terrorism?!"_

"Obviously, this is a mistake boss." Tony shot a panicked glance toward an equally wide-eyed Ziva. "Must have gotten an internal memo mixed up with the BOLO for the victim's brother. We'll fix it."

"Ya _think_?"

Ziva reached for her phone as Gibbs headed back to his desk.

"And put all your damned feet on the floor!"

* * *

Much later that night, Tony returned to Abby's lab and reclaimed a body bag containing one gray barn cat. He rolled his eyes at the toe tag the lab tech had affixed to its neck proclaiming its name to be Jethro Junior. Removing the tag, Tony scooped up bag and cat and headed upstairs.

In the silence of the bullpen, he gingerly unzipped the bag. Slowly, the cat emerged.

With a cautious prowl, it took in its new surroundings, offering the shiny-shoed man behind it a discontented growl.

Tony retreated quickly as the cat sniffed at Ziva's desk. On the trail already, it would seem. He smiled. The plan was a guaranteed total success. "Happy hunting," Tony whispered as he headed home for the night.

The cat watched him go, closed off by those shiny doors so unlike the wood of his barn. He sniffed underneath one metal object, and then another. Yes, this was the one.

With a quickened step on furry paws, the cat took off.

The night was short and there was much to be done.

* * *

Morning always dawned early for those on team Gibbs.

Ziva was already settled at her desk with a mug of tea when Tony arrived at work shortly before dawn the following day. As he rounded the corner into the bullpen, she looked up at him in surprise. "I thought you were taking the cat back to the barn this morning."

Tony blinked, his morning bagel frozen between his teeth. Removing his pastry, he eyed his partner as his fingers travelled automatically to the healing scratches running tracks across his head. "I thought _you _were taking it back."

"Me? Why would I take it back? You were the one who captured it to begin with!"

"Exactly!" Tony placed his half-eaten bagel on top of his desk. "Which is why I thought _you _were the one who was going to take it back."

Ziva huffed and drained her tea. "Fine. Give it to me and I will drive it back before Gibbs arrives."

Again, Tony blinked. "I don't have it."

Ziva fumbled for her keys. "Well, if you do not have it and I do not have it, then where is the..."

Realization hit at the same time. Their eyes widened as they scanned the bullpen. Their gaze drifted to the stairs, the balcony, the cubicles, and MTAC. They surveyed the hallway, the restrooms, the break room, and the elevator. Tony felt his stomach drop.

"Ziva?" He tried to swallow down his sudden rising fear. His voice took on a strangled tone. _"Where's the cat?"_

* * *

_A/N: Our catnapped cat does indeed have a plan. Well, so did Tony, but that's about to implode in what I hope to be an amusing way. Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows. This is such a silly thing in a drama-filled fandom. I'm pleased people seem to enjoy it!_


	5. Chapter 5

When Agent McGee arrived at work that morning, he found his coworkers in the NCIS break room. More accurately, he found his coworkers _tearing apart_ the NCIS break room. "Do I even want to know what the two of you are doing?"

Ziva huffed and shot Tony a death glare. "The cat is out of the bag, McGee."

"I'd hope so," McGee muttered as he searched the fridge for coffee creamer. "Otherwise it'd probably be dead by now."

Tony slammed a cabinet shut and turned to his partner. "She means the cat is on the loose, McGee. As in unaccounted for. Somewhere in this building." He turned to Ziva. "And 'the cat is out of the bag' means that somebody spilled a secret." He swung back around to McGee. "_Which_ we are not going to do, got it? We're going to find the thing and take Cujo back to the barn where it belongs."

Ziva turned in confusion. "I thought that Cujo was a dog."

McGee's jaw dropped. "You two _lost _the _cat_?"

"Not helping, McGee." Tony growled as he continued searching break room cabinets.

"We have already checked autopsy, Abby's lab, and the evidence garage." Ziva crouched under the coffeemaker. "It has to be here somewhere."

"Well, it's not in here." Tony closed the final cabinet door.

"Great." Ziva stood, arms crossed, in front of him. "That just leaves MTAC, the director's office, interrogation, and _everywhere else_ in this building!"

"You lost the cat," McGee repeated, trying to wrap his mind around his coworkers' blunder. "How did that even happen?"

"Hey!" Tony crossed the room to stand before his partner. "We did not _lose_ the cat! We just temporarily mislocated it! It's still somewhere...right around...it's gotta be...either in the…" He sputtered into silence, the enormity of the NCIS building becoming rapidly apparent. "Yeah," he finally concluded. "We lost the cat."

"Did it at least kill the mouse?" McGee asked.

Tony and Ziva shared an uneasy look. Tony cleared his throat. "We have no evidence _disproving_ that theory…"

"Or_ proving_ it," Ziva bit.

"So, you lost the cat _and_ the mouse," McGee clarified.

He was greeted with two cold glares.

Shaking his head, McGee made for the door. "Can't wait 'till Gibbs hears about this."

"Gibbs," Tony ground out, "is meeting with the director of the FBI this morning."

"Not for long," called McGee. "Meeting ended twenty minutes ago. He's on his way back right now."

Tony and Ziva scrambled for the door.

* * *

"What to do have on Staff Sergeant Evans?"

The words left Gibbs's lips with a slight growl even before the elevator doors closed behind him. The FBI meeting had not gone well. Fornell, of all people, had insisted on a "joint investigation" with NCIS. Gibbs was pretty sure that his own director had agreed with Fornell just to torture him. That, or to punish him for the files he'd been refusing to sign. The files DiNozzo had chosen to recarpet with the previous morning.

When Gibbs didn't receive a response to his initial bark, he'd asked the question of his agents again. Louder. Volume, he found, usually got results. "_What do we have,"_ he paused to glare at a wide-eyed DiNozzo, "_on Staff Sergeant Evans!"_

"Working on it, boss."

"Phone records are almost done," offered Ziva.

McGee sneezed unhelpfully.

Gibbs stomped over to his desk while wondering what the hell his agents had done all morning. Shaking his head, he paused suddenly before sitting in his desk chair.

It was already occupied.

With a mouse.

A dead mouse.

A _very _dead mouse. Laid out on his chair like some kind of present.

Gibbs cocked his head to the side and studied it, coffee in hand. Behind him, David and DiNozzo were having some kind of silent conversation back and forth which seemed to be punctuated by the angry clicking of their keyboards and that damn dinging thing the email always did.

"Hey!" he barked, getting their attention.

They looked up from their keyboards.

Gingerly, he placed his coffee safely on his desk and picked up the dead mouse by its limp little tail.

Ziva's eyes widened. DiNozzo looked horrified. McGee sneezed again.

"Look familiar to either one of you?" He held the mouse out by its tail, swinging the dead rodent gently toward his agents. Ziva eyed her stapler. Gibbs rolled his eyes. "It's dead, David. Not gonna need the office supplies."

She offered him a sheepish look.

Gibbs studied the mouse a moment more. "Looks like the maintenance crew left us a present." He glared at his Mossad liason. Damn Ziva and her penchant for subduing suspects with the furniture. Actually, damn Ziva and her inability to tell _apart_ suspects and the maintenance crew.

Tony swallowed audibly from behind his desk. "Guess they did, boss." He failed at a carefree chuckle. "They really hate us down there."

With a thud, Gibbs deposited the dead rodent into the trash. Well, that was one problem solved. He tried to settle in and get back to work. The mouse was dead. Time to deal with the rats at the FBI.

Only, the thing is, he'd almost swear...that dead mouse had _tooth_ marks on its neck.

Clearly, he needed some more caffeine. Gibbs reached for his coffee and got back to work.

* * *

"I am not saying I am unhappy it is dead!"

Tony peered around the stairwell to make sure they were alone. "Well, Ziva, you don't _seem_ very happy about it!"

"Did you see the tooth marks on its neck? It was obviously a cat!"

"No kidding. Here I thought the maintenance crew was just getting really creepy in its hate."

Ziva threw up her hands. "If _we_ know it was a cat, then _Gibbs_ will know it was a cat!"

"You think I don't know that? The only thing buying us any time at all is the thing with Fornell. Gibbs is distracted!"

"How distracted does he have to be to realize there was fur all over his chair! And now there is fur all over his..." she gestured awkwardly while searching for the word. "All over his _back_ side!"

"You checking out Gibbs's back side, Ziva?"

"I don't even want to know what the two of you are talking about."

Tony straightened his shoulders while Ziva's red face turned to the floor. "Director Vance," Tony huffed a nervous laugh as his boss's boss stood before him.

The Director greeted both of them sternly. "DiNozzo. David," he nodded. "How's the case?"

Tony swallowed. Ziva continued studying the floor. "We're still trying to track down the brother of the victim. We have some leads, but he's proving a little difficult to find."

The Director shifted his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "A game of cat and mouse, huh? Well, keep on it." He clapped Tony on the shoulder and continued on his way.

Tony's head met the wall with an audible thud.

* * *

Gibbs was starting to worry. Much as he tried to focus on the screen and make some sense out of what Abby was telling him, he kept getting distracted. It seemed like every time she tried to explain the text message code thing, he'd see this strange flash of gray out of the corner of his eye.

"So you see, Gibbs, when a text message is sent, the cell tower -"

There it was again - something moving over on the floor underneath her fridge. By the time he turned to look, whatever it was had vanished. Must be some sort of FBI-stress-induced vision thing.

"...so that when you uncode the text, it appears as a series of -"

Gibbs swore there was movement streaking across the shelf beneath her window.

"...and after you apply the algorithm to the code, all you have to do to find the -"

Did Abby's swirly test tube thing just meow?

"Gibbs!" He turned back to her exasperated face. "Are you listening to anything I say?"

Before he could open his mouth to respond, a loud sneeze announced McGee's arrival. "Abby," the Probie wheezed while reaching for a handkerchief, "do you have the cell tower grid cross referenced with the signals we found? I think I have something." Together, they bent over a keyboard and began clicking away.

Realizing that attempts at farther explanations would be futile, Gibbs turned to go. "Call me when you have something." He shook his head and strode toward the elevator. Surely he didn't see something jump off of Abby's counter.

He sighed. Whatever it was, he was blaming it on Fornell.

* * *

"Give me your purse."

Ziva looked up from her desk.

Tony held out an insistent hand. "Give me your purse."

"I do not –"

"Bag, then! Give me your bag! I'm going to the store while Gibbs is busy in the lab."

She studied him in disbelief. "We are in the middle of a case, the…_thing_ is on the loose, and you are going to do your grocery shopping?"

"I am going," he hissed, bending down, "to buy cat treats to try to lure the _thing_ out of wherever its hiding!"

Ziva nodded in understanding before her face turned in confusion. "Then why do you need my bag?"

"I can't very well walk back in with shopping bags from Pet City!" He rubbed at his aching temples. "Plus, you can consider the money your contribution to project 'save our collective asses.' Just give me the bag, I'll put the treats in there, and no one will be the wiser."

"Fine." She handed him the desired item. "But I will know if you look through it."

"Of course you will."

He was almost to the elevator when her voice brought him to a stop.

"Tuna fish!" she shouted triumphantly, leaping from her desk with one finger in the air.

"What?"

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Ziva lowered her voice. "I hear that _things_ like tuna fish."

Tony sighed. "Back in half an hour."

As he entered the elevator, he stabbed the button for the parking garage. So intent was he in his task that he almost failed to notice Jimmy Palmer sitting on the floor of the cart.

"Uh, hey, Palmer." Tony swallowed awkwardly. "Whatcha doing?"

Palmer used one finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Tony," he smiled shakily. "Just…hanging out."

"In the elevator?"

"Just for a while," he promised. "Hey, is that Ziva's purse?"

Tony observed the colorful fabric. "Nope. It's most definitely _not_ her purse."

Arriving at his destination, Tony left Palmer in the elevator and went in search of fish.

* * *

Gibbs sighed as he took the first swig of his sixth cup of coffee. Things had only gotten stranger as the day went on.

First, there was the mouse, presented like some kind of trophy on top of his chair. (And when he found out what sniveling broom pusher left the thing on_ his _chair instead of David's he was going to...)

But that was a story for another day.

Then, there had been the incident in Abby's lab, but he'd pushed that off as some sort of Fornell-induced anxiety attack.

But that wasn't all.

Not only was he seeing blurry gray swishes out of the corner of his eye, but there was something wrong with his agents as well.

And, seeing as how yesterday he'd taken their office supply war with a mouse as almost _normal_, saying that there was something _wrong _with them was really saying _something_.

Before lunch, for instance, he'd found Ziva on the floor of the break room. Drinking out of a bowl of milk. Almost like some kind of a demonstration. And he swore that before he walked in, he heard her...meowing. She'd jumped up with a very red face once he'd entered the room, but had, he noticed, left the bowl on the floor. Awkwardly, she'd offered him milk for his coffee, which he'd refused with a wordless shake of his head. After that, she'd scampered from the room and that blurry gray sensation was back again.

He'd shaken that one off as a possible reaction to an old concussion. She did get hit in the head a lot. In truth, Gibbs had just been relieved that DiNozzo hadn't been around when he found her down on all fours. There were some things he just didn't need to know about, let alone see.

And then there was DiNozzo. His senior field agent was walking around with a deeply scratched forehead. When Gibbs had asked about it, he'd stammered something about a barn cat. At the time, Gibbs had smirked at the memory of Fornell being jumped by that cat yesterday. But before he could clarify, DiNozzo had rushed off to complete paperwork or something.

That, in and of itself, seemed odd.

DiNozzo didn't _do _paperwork. At least, not unless under duress.

But what bothered Gibbs most about it was that he swore DiNozzo got those scratches sometime _after_ they left the barn.

He shook his head. Must be that Fornell had affected his memory, too.

Then there was the BOLO for the mouse. And the fact that Metro kept sending over wedges of cheese to "assist in the investigation." Wedges of cheese including one particularly nice cheddar that had been hand delivered to a very confused Director Vance.

But what Gibbs _still _couldn't get past was the tuna fish.

Cans and cans of it, all over the building. Every time he turned around, another one appeared. All three of his agents, eating it for lunch. Well, not so much eating it as having cans of the stinky stuff resting on their desks. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he ever saw any of them actually take a bite. Later on, he'd smelled the stuff down in Abby's lab. He'd even found open cans placed around the evidence garage! Even sitting at his own desk, he could smell it. Strong, like it was right under his…

With a sense of dread, Gibbs eased open his top desk drawer.

Tuna fish.

Gibbs shook his head and chucked it in the trash.

Stranger by the hour.

* * *

"We have to tell him." Ziva leaned against the sink of the men's room. She had barged in moments before causing a rather terrified probie agent to flee from the scene.

Tony kept his eyes on the door as he washed his hands. "Tell who?"

"Tell Gibbs!" she hissed. "We have to tell him!"

"Why would we do that?"

"Because! He caught me in the break room putting out the milk. I had almost lured it to me when he walked in. It was just about to join me at the bowl when -"

"Wait, were you licking from the bowl?"

"I was trying to show it not to be afraid!"

"Boss saw you licking from a bowl of milk?" He chuckled. "Gotta get the security camera footage on that one."

"Tony!"

"Calm down. It's not that bad. Palmer thinks I carry a purse." He sighed. "We give it 'til the end of the day today. If it doesn't turn up, we leave the evidence garage door cracked, it wanders out and heads home, everything is fine."

"Until we are fired for breaking security protocol."

"It won't come to that." As the door opened, Tony turned at the all too familiar sound of a sneeze. Rolling his eyes toward the newcomer, he continued. "Besides. McGoober here is like some kind of walking cat detection tool. We'll have it wrapped up before we go home."

McGee sniffed in greeting and headed for a stall.

"That had better be the case. If not, you know I can kill you -"

"I know, I know. With a paperclip."

"I was going to say stapler."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, Ducky." An exhausted Tony stepped through autopsy's sliding glass doors. Between the current case and the missing cat, this was rapidly becoming a very long day. "McGee said you wanted to see me."

"Indeed I did, my boy." The doctor turned from his desk where he sat with a pile of x-rays and a steaming mug of tea. "Pull up a stool."

Relieved to be off his feet, Tony did as suggested. "You have something on Evans?"

"Hmm?" Ducky took one last look at row of film before sliding it back into a file. "Oh, no. Nothing there that wasn't to be expected."

"Then why-"

"We experienced the strangest occurrence in our little office early this morning." Ducky turned to face the younger man. "Mr. Palmer and I arrived earlier than usual to greet our latest guest." He gestured to the sheet-covered figure resting on a metal table across the room. "We began the autopsy, and everything was quite as usual until we realized we had an additional attendee in our presence." He eyed Tony knowingly.

"Is that so?" Tony felt his stomach drop.

"Yes, and when I relayed the story to Timothy just now, he suggested that you may have some insight into the incident."

Tony swallowed. "He did."

Ducky refilled his mug from a steaming pot. With a wry grin, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Care to tell me more about our furry feline friend?"

Tony realized, in that moment, that when he wanted to, Ducky had a stare that could rival that of his boss. "What, ah." He cleared his throat. "What do you already know?"

Ducky sat back with his mug. "I think it best if you start that story the beginning, don't you think?"

With a defeated sigh, Tony brought the good doctor up to speed.

When he finished, Ducky was quiet for a moment. "Oh, Anthony. I don't envy you when Gibbs finds out about this."

"So everyone says."

"Such a pity," Ducky shook his head. "It seemed a very nice cat. When we came upon it this morning, however, it gave Mr. Palmer quite a fright. The poor boy ran for the elevator as though the devil himself were after him."

"Palmer's scared of a cat?" Tony allowed himself a chuckle through his misery.

"Says the boy who fears a mouse," deadpanned the doctor. "But it would seem so. Of course, there are many cultures who regard the sudden appearance of a feline animal to be an omen of -"

"Ducky." Tony was running out of patience and time.

"Right. Of course. After Mr. Palmer's abrupt exit, I was able to approach the cat and attempted to ascertain its origin. After a few minutes of allowing me to pet it, it ran away."

"Wait - it let you _pet_ it?"

"Why, yes. It seemed to enjoy the human contact."

Tony absently rubbed a punctured thumb over his scratched forehead. "If you say so."

"As I was saying, it ran away and hasn't been seen since." A quizzical look crossed the doctor's face. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen Mr. Palmer in the intervening hours either. I do hope the boy is alright."

"Last I saw him, he was hiding in an elevator."

"Oh, dear. Irrational fears are such powerful things." Draining the last of his tea, Ducky rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I can't help you with your search, but I thought you might like to know that at some point it had been here. I'll keep an eye out, as they say."

"Thanks, Ducky." Tony rose to leave, then turned. "Ah, Gibbs doesn't know that you..."

"My lips are sealed."

"Thanks, Ducky."

As he crossed the sliding doors once again, Tony turned at the sound of the doctor's voice. "Tony? If you happen to find Mr. Palmer during your search for our feline friend, do send him down this way." He glanced at the sheet-covered table. "Our guest awaits."

* * *

Finally, Gibbs could take no more.

It was the purse that was the final straw.

He stood from his desk, shrieking out a piercing whistle from between his lips. All activity in the bullpen around him froze to a sudden terrified stop.

"_Will somebody tell me what the hell is wrong with all of you_?"

Silence, except for yet another sneeze.

"I got Ziva drinking milk off the floor, DiNozzo handing out cans of tuna like it's candy at some sort of warped Halloween, McGee looks like he caught the plague, and will somebody _please _tell me why Palmer won't leave the elevator!"

Silence.

"Well?" When no response was issued, Gibbs whirled to face his senior field agent. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Tony's eyes widened as Ziva made a strangled sound. McGee emitted yet another sneeze.

"Nobody really knows what's wrong with Palmer, boss." Tony flinched in automatic headslap anticipation.

"We're putting out BOLOs on field mice, my senior field agent carries a purse, I've got the FBI breathing down my neck, Metro keeps sending over cheese, and why the _hell_ did maintenance leave a dead rodent on _my_ chair!" He glared intently at Agent David.

The elevator's insistent ding broke the tension in the room. "Sounds like you're having quite a day, Jethro."

Gibbs sighed in defeat and turned to the latest arrival. "Tobias," he greeted.

"My director sent me over here to figure out a way for our two agencies to play nice with each other before we all lose our jobs." The FBI agent sniffed the air curiously. "Does it smell like tuna fish in here?"

"Let's go," Gibbs growled. "We'll talk on the way." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair before whirling back to face a watery-eyed McGee. "You! Buy some cold medicine before you infect the rest of us!"

"On it, boss."

With that, the gray haired men exited the bullpen, Gibbs sparing only one more murderous glance toward his clearly deranged agents.

"Kids causing trouble at school again?" Fornell asked with an impish grin.

"Like preschoolers with launch codes." Making his way to the elevator, Gibbs slowed when he realized Fornell was lagging behind.

"Actually, Jethro, could we take the stairs? That kid - Ducky's assistant - he's in there having some sort of crisis." He gestured toward the elevator.

Gibbs rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and cursed the fact that he'd come to work today at all. There was not enough bourbon in all the world for this. "Fine. We'll take the stairs."

As they walked, Gibbs shrugged into his jacket. A moment later, he felt Fornell's hand brush his arm in what Gibbs vaguely recalled from some seminar as 'yellow light behavior. '

"The hell are you doing, Tobias?" At the taller man's immediate scowl, Fornell backed away, but continued to inspect the strangely fuzzy, discolored area on Gibbs's coat. Was that...hair?

"Did you get a dog or something?"

"No!"

Fornell eyed the gray tuft. "Then bad news, Gibbs. I think you're starting to shed."

* * *

Team Gibbs, minus the man himself, found themselves summoned to MTAC a short time later. Next to them stood an increasingly frustrated Director Vance, ever-present toothpick bobbing between tightened lips. On screen, the Secretary of the Navy firmly encouraged them to wrap up the case. Preferably yesterday.

"This is the last time I'm able to buy you time on this, Leon. Your people have got to get their acts together over there."

McGee sneezed.

"We're working on that, sir," assured the Director. He wondered absently why the room smelled like fish.

"Work harder."

McGee sneezed again. Tony shifted nervously and nudged a wide-eyed Ziva.

Director Vance shot him a look before turning back to the screen. "Agent Gibbs is working with FBI Agent Fornell right now to come to some sort of an agreement on the case. Should have a resolution for you by the end of business today."

McGee sneezed again. And again.

"I hope so, Leon. If we can't have a..." the Secretary trailed off and shook his head. "If we can't have a good working relationship with..." Again he mumbled to a halt, squinting into his camera.

Tony got a very uncomfortable feeling. McGee sneezed again.

"...with sister agencies, then...Leon?" Sec Nav leaned forward to peer intently into his screen. A deep scowl crossed his features. "What the _hell_ is that on the chair behind you?"

The four of them whirled at the same time. Perched happily in the front row of the movie theater style seats was none other than the cat.

Tony winced.

Ziva lunged.

McGee sneezed.

The Director's jaw dropped as the cat regarded him with a low growl followed by a hiss. It slipped through Ziva's hands, hopping into the row of seats behind them.

"Leon! Is that a _cat _in your building?" The Sec Nav continued to rail. "What the hell kind of security do you people have over there? This is supposed to be a secure location! If you can't manage to keep out a _cat_, then how on God's green Earth are you going to keep out -"

Stepping away from the angry cat, Vance sprung into action. "End of business today!" assured the director, motioning frantically to the tech to cut the feed.

When the screen went blank, the room fell to silence. The cat vaulted from its seat, scrambled past several pairs of feet, and streaked toward the door.

"At least it can't get out of-"

Just as the cat reached the door, Jimmy Palmer had the bad sense and worse timing to try to enter. At the sight of the cat before him, he leapt backward in fright, creating just enough of an opening for the cat to once again make an escape.

"Not again," wailed Ziva.

"ACHOO!" offered McGee.

"It's everywhere!" shrieked Palmer.

"I'm dead," muttered Tony.

The autopsy assistant stuttered at the door. "Out!" ordered Vance. Almost relieved, Palmer hastily followed the cat back out of the room.

Turning back to McGee, Tony, and Ziva, the director let his eyes land briefly on each of them. He took in Tony's scratched face and McGee's watery eyes. "I take it you three have some prior knowledge about what just occurred."

McGee sneezed in tacit acknowledgement.

"There was a very aggressive mouse, Director," Ziva explained.

The Director turned to the senior member of the team. "Is this why my office smells like a litter box?"

Tony sighed. It was time to tell the story.

And so, he did.

* * *

Finally, Director Vance shushed them all with a slight raise of his hand. "Let me see if I have this right." He spoke slowly, eyes falling across all those assembled. "There was a mouse. _One_ mouse. So naturally you morons decided to steal a cat and let it loose in my building. Let it loose with no means to catch it once it ran free. The cat - the cat missing _somewhere inside this building_ - loves Abby, likes Ducky, and tolerates McGee and David. It attacks Fornell, scares the crap out of Palmer, swipes Agent DiNozzo in the head, and materializes suddenly as if from the middle of nowhere."

"It also hisses at you," Tony offered with a weak smile.

That observation was met with a glare.

Silence filled the room as realization dawned.

"Um, guys?" McGee spoke up nervously. "Is it me or is the cat..."

"Gibbs. The cat is Gibbs."

* * *

Finally, the bullpen was quiet. In the distance, the only sound to be heard was the rhythmic vacuuming of the night janitor somewhere else on the floor. His agents had scattered for the night. Hopefully, some sleep would insure they were less deranged the following day.

Gibbs sighed as he settled in at his desk. Reaching for his coffee, he took several long swallows of the molten drink before settling back into his rodent free chair. Perhaps he'd get some sleep himself after he finished up the paperwork Vance insisted he complete. Might make that gray blurry thing go away.

Just as he was about to force himself to read those damn FBI files, Gibbs was startled by a sudden presence on top of his desk.

After a quick breath, Gibbs eyed the cat standing on the desk before him in wary surprise. The cat, for its part, eyed him right back.

Gibbs opened his mouth, then shut it.

The cat yawned.

Gibbs watched.

The cat continued to stare a moment more before cautiously reaching down with furry paws to stand on top of his lap. Gibbs felt a small seed of suspicion land deep in his gut. This cat seemed almost...familiar to him.

Scanning the bullpen, Gibbs could find no possible owner anywhere nearby.

The cat briefly sniffed his steaming coffee cup before returning its attention back to his face.

Experimentally, Gibbs reached out to give it a scratch behind the ear. The cat responded happily, cupping its head into his palm.

Despite himself, Gibbs had to grin. "Well, hi there," he offered. The cat began to purr, still watching him expectantly.

There was still something vaguely familiar about the thing on his lap. After a moment, Gibbs reached carefully around his furry intruder and shuffled one file out of the stack on his desk. He flipped through the contents for a moment before withdrawing one specific photo. A dead marine posed in a barn. Nothing new, but Gibbs' eyes were drawn to the corner of the picture, where a cat could barely be seen eying the photographer from the corner of the shot. A cat, Gibbs noticed, with an "M" shaped mark across its forehead. Just like the one standing on his lap.

With a sigh, Gibbs compared photo and cat. An absolute match, as Abby would say.

And suddenly, things made sense.

At least, as much sense as they were going to make when his team was involved.

The cat continued to purr, going so far as to nuzzle his chin before lying down and falling immediately into a contented sleep right there in his lap. Curled up right there in his lap like that had been its plan all along.

Gibbs considered the appearance of the cat.

At least it was quiet.

Might be good company, too.

Kept the mice away.

And it certainly _hated_ the FBI.

"How do you feel about building boats?" he scratched it gently under the chin.

Opening one eye in response, the cat yawned and curled up happily once more. Its work was finally done; its plan had been a complete success.

"Well, okay then," Gibbs nodded to himself. "Better get you a cat bed for the basement."

With his new roommate purring softly in his lap, Special Agent Gibbs got back to work.

* * *

_A/N: Because, seriously? Gibbs needs a cat. And who can resist a cat version of Gibbs? In my mind, he totally names it Tobias._

_We've reached the end of our little tale. (tail?) Thanks for reading! I enjoyed writing this immensely, and it's been fun hearing what you think! I'm happy I was able to make some of you smile!_


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